Home, Where My Love Lies Waiting
by Jessica-Doom
Summary: Had Peter known that every kiss to follow would never match up to those first few terror-soaked ones, he never would have let that bittersweet moment end.


**A/N: I just...had this bug in my head during that kiss scene. I wouldn't go away so here it is. Sorry not sorry.**

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Had Peter known that every kiss to follow would never match up to those first few terror-soaked ones, he never would have let that bittersweet moment end. Looking back, none of those kisses were perfect. In fact, every single one of them was absolutely awkward. Even that last one that really sealed what they were both thinking and feeling. That one that Peter imagined looked straight out of the movies. The one where the guy _finally_ gets his girl. Even that kiss had too much teeth. Peter didn't exactly have a lot of (read: _any_) practice kissing girls…. So, yeah, there were a few areas he needed to fine tune.

Once they were back in New York, once he was back to being that comfortable friendly _neighborhood _Spider-Man, he was all too happy to start working on those flaws. Except….

The feeling wasn't right. It wasn't _there_. Not that he wasn't still very much into MJ, because oh my god of course he was. No, it was something else missing from these new experimental forays. Something that took Peter longer to figure out than he would have liked. Especially since he was kissing MJ in a real and physical world and that was literally the only thing he wanted in life.

The revelation came after Beck's leaked video. After Peter had, admittedly, done some crying, MJ's solution to calm his hyperventilated breaths was to steal his air completely. And Peter thought this was a perfect distraction technique! Until he felt that tingle. Well, not _that_ tingle. Not his 'Peter Tingle'. (How had he not come up for a better name yet?) The tingle was the one he had felt during that first glorious kiss in London.

That day came rushing back like a kick to the stomach. Peter gasped a rough, ragged breath and pulled back too quickly. MJ followed after him for a second before she realized, blinking at him with squinted eyes. "I shouldn't have…," she mumbled, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"No, no," Peter rushed to reassure her, gripping her hands too tightly in his lap. "No…. I'm just in my own head." And his head was cluttered with too many contradicting thoughts to handle. And the most overwhelming of all of those thoughts – even in that moment where he should be worried about the whole world knowing he was Spider-Man – was how satisfying a tear-stained kiss truly was. And how _wrong_ and slimy that felt in his gut.

How was it that kissing MJ only felt truly at its peak when matched with some sort of turmoil? Why did he only feel exhilarated when the taste of battle was on his mouth? Why did he need tears or blood or ash to actually _feel_ something this beautiful?

Just how messed up was he?

"No one with half a brain is going to believe that you were behind the Elemental attacks. Especially not since they now know you're just a teenager."

"I killed a guy, MJ," Peter muttered, unable to meet her searching eyes. "That part isn't a lie."

The tears were trekking their way down his cheeks again. Visibly frustrated, Peter wiped them away. He thought he'd come to terms with this already. The whole killing the bad guy to save mankind thing. Except this was the first time that the dead bad guy happened to be a real human being with real human blood and real human cold, dead eyes that haunted him every time he closed his own.

Blinking away that image, Peter pulled MJ close again. As close as she would let him. Pulled her onto his lap and into his chest. Kissing her hard and long, spurned on by the taste of her worry mixing with the moisture he was unable to quell. Knowing good and well that there was the high likelihood of far too many terror-fueled kisses in their future. Something he should be panicked by but couldn't help but to feel mild excitement for.

He was no longer Peter Parker. To the world, he was Spider-Man. He was a terror and a menace and a killer. This was his life now – a life in the harsh spotlight of public opinion. And in this life, he would face innumerable battles and experience immense loss. It only made sense that he would need to find some sort of comfort in the trying times to come.

That source of comfort was secured in his arms. That source of comfort tasted real and right when she was covered in sweat and trembling with fear. That source of comfort was likely a fleeting fling who would leave him just like everyone else he tried to love.

But for now….

For now MJ was a grounding weight on his bed, desperate to have her own void filled with fleeting comfort. And for now, he was just a boy kissing a girl. A cute girl. A _very_ cute and strange girl that he just might be in love with.


End file.
